


Endure

by artemeis



Series: Children of the Damned [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Multi, Spirits, Vengeful ghosts, Wendigo, Werewolves, season one, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemeis/pseuds/artemeis
Summary: Erin Swan’s parents died bloody. Leaving her in a twisted mass of shattered glass, blood, broken bonds, and fear.





	Endure

_**8 YEARS AGO.**_

"Sam," Erin called, simultaneously glancing over her shoulder to make sure Dean didn't overhear. Even though he left to go get them some food from the rundown gas station a few blocks up the street. They were running low, fairly quickly, and the crumpled dollars John left them, with a promise that he would be back in under two days, wouldn't be enough to suffice for another day or two. _There it is folks, grade A parenting for John Winchester._

It was currently snowing, a few drizzle of snow pellets here and there, so it would take him at least five minutes. _Tops_. Give or take a few if he stopped to charm his way through getting some beer, that is if there were a female cashier at the front desk, all charismatic smiles and cheesy pick-up lines. "I think Dean likes me." 

Sam's gaze snapped up to Erin's—the fifteen year old was finishing up his maths homework, unfinished from when Dean made him stop and go take a shower, too engrossed in his equations that he would forget to do so. Small beads of water still clung to the tips of his hair. _I'm letting it air dry, Erin_.

"What?" 

"Dee. I think he likes me. Doesn't he?" At his loaded silence, the sixteen year old angled her avid gaze over to his. A great distraction from antsyly glancing at the front door every two minutes. Erin was on pins and needles. Any sudden noise sparked a bolt of electricity up her skin, settling her hunting senses in a tizzy. Sam set down his pencil and gave her a slow clap, tired eyes flashed up at her—he doesn't sleep much, Dean likes to call it another notion of his teenage angst. 

"Congratulations. You're the last one to know." His eyes narrowed curiously. "And why do you want to know? Are you into Dean?" 

"What?" she laughed, skin flaring with heat. 

"Like _into him_ into him?" he pressed on buoyantly, entirely unconcerned with her discomfort as he resumed one of his arithmetic questions. "I mean, it's obvious he likes you—" 

"I don't like Dean or anything," she clarified sonorously, and his eyebrows ticked upwards, stare taking on a glimmer of amusement. 

"Someone's defensive." 

Erin gave a tense shrug. "Why would I be defensive?" 

"I dunno, you tell me." 

"Nothing to tell." 

A long silence poured over them. Sam finishing up his homework, irritable smirk and all, the bastard, and Erin shooting him a wicked glare. She wasn't about to stand here and be grilled over by a fifteen year old. 

"I don't have to take this from you," she hissed, and when she didn't get a reaction from him she huffed, throwing her hands up in the air frustratedly. "I'm going to get some cereal." 

She was halfway to the kitchen when she heard him speak up again. "He likes you too, you know. Haven't you noticed he hasn't gone out and picked up some girl since we got here?" 

Erin has noticed. Though she put all her bets on him not going out to brown nose some poor girl because he was too busy fixing up on the Impala or working cases John seemed to find so easily now. 

"Why do you think he brings you out on so many hunts now?" he continued, talking down into the table. "It's not because you need more practice. It's because he wants to be alone with you—" 

A couch cushion hit him over the head before he could continue, knocking the pencil out his hand and evoking a surprised squawk. "Stop talking, Sam," she seethed, shooting an unnerved glance over to the front door, and Sam swatted down the cushion with a scowl. 

"He's not here right now, Erin," he reminded her. 

"I know that—it's just—it's not," she waved a frustrated hand around, "I know that, but stop making a big deal out of it because seriously, it's the biggest non-deal ever. In fact, when Dean gets here, let's forget we ever had this conversation, okay. He doesn't need to know any of this." 

Dean wasn't ready for a relationship now, let alone with her. He's only nineteen, still a teenager and with plenty of time before he's ready to settle down with one girl. And if what Sam said was true, which, in reality, Erin didn't actually believe because she means, come on, it's Dean. He pounces after anything he deems to have a vagina. Or perfectly modified tits. He was a ladies man through and through, there wasn't a flaw in his system. 

"Okay, okay, alright," he replied, reaching down to pick up his pencil off the floor. 

Erin pointed a patronizing finger at him, eyes slitted, and his hands came up in a line of surrender. 

"Okay, good." 

A pause. The scribbling of pencil on paper. The tick, tick, ticking of the Quartz clock. The snow beating down on the windows outside, creating a thump thump sound. 

"It's okay to like my brother, E." His smile grew infuriatingly gratifying.

Another rabid cushion came hurtling at his face and he swatted it away with a disbelieving look. "Hey, pillow assassin, what, are you on your period or something?"


End file.
